


A Van Gogh

by penguin10598



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, also a halloween party??, and lots of early 00's references, good ole' religious guilt™, hair dresser!bucky, there's a blowjob scene but not graphic, this is a cracky ooc fic and i apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguin10598/pseuds/penguin10598
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Oh, shit<i>  Steve screams to himself <i>He is massaging my head<i>  This under any circumstances would not be normal for Steve. Never once has he had the desire to have his head massaged, he wasn’t that big of a fan of getting his hair washed by a stranger in the first place. Seeing as this head massaging stranger was extremely attractive did nothing to help the situation, and all those things are what ultimately led to Steve choking on his own spit</i></i></i><br/></i><br/><i></i><br/><i>or the one where</i><br/>Steve is an anxious insomniac and Bucky is a hair dresser<br/><br/><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Van Gogh

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a short dumb fic that escalated out of control rather quickly  
> idek it was completely powered by spank rock  
> unbetad all mistakes r mine  
> enjoy all my commas and stuff I have no concept of grammar

See, here’s the thing Steve was pretty sure he had never once set foot in a hair salon in his entire life. He can’t even recall a time where he actually got his hair cut in a barber shop even, never the less a hair salon. It wasn’t just any hair salon either, it was one of those new age glass wall hair salons where anyone walking, driving, riding a fucking bicycle by, could see him getting his haircut. It’s not like he’s insecure or anything, he just didn’t want just anyone walking by to be able to see him getting his haircut, that’s all.

If it was up to him he’d cut his own hair, like what he always did. However, after what his friends now call “Hairoshima” which Steve considers to be equal parts offensive as it is annoying, he is no longer allowed to cut his own hair. Though, like the reasonable person he is, he knows he can very well cut his own hair anyways, but Natasha, damn it, has already scheduled his hair appointment for Thursday at 3.

“You never even considered I may be busy?” Steve griped at her. He was mad her, he doesn’t even know why he invited her over. She would never believe he was actually mad at her if he kept inviting her over, but he got lonely okay, and despite all of her overbearing awfulness she was great company.

“Steve,” She began her glare set straight on him. “The only reason you ever leave this apartment is to go to the noodle place when you get hungry at two in the morning. I know you aren’t busy. And besides it’ll be good for you to get outside and have some actual human interaction.”

“What? The people working at the noodle place don’t count as actual human interaction?” Steve protested, despite her glare becoming increasingly more homicidal with every word that flowed out of his mouth.

“Why are you so against getting a haircut?” She pressed. Steve sighed, it wasn’t that he was against getting a haircut per-say it’s just that he was against getting a _haircut._ He didn’t want some random hairdresser feeling up his head, or accidentally stabbing him with a pair of scissors or something. He has heard his fair share of Hair Cuttery visits gone wrong. He couldn’t hide the grimace that struck his face and ran through his body as he visibly shuddered at the thought of an electric razor slicing his ear off.

“Steve, you are being ridiculous,” Natasha hit him square in the chest with a pillow with surprisingly enough force for it to hurt, if only a little. “I set you up an appointment with a friend of mine, James. He does my hair, and he’s good at it. Okay? He’s never accidentally cut off anyone’s ear, I promise.”

“It’s not tha-“ Steve was going to continue his little protest, perhaps even turn it into a dignified tantrum, as that was the only way to throw a tantrum when you are a grown ass man, but was interrupted by Natasha hitting him, this time in the face, with the pillow repeatedly.

Steve wrestled his way off of the couch, confiscating the pillow as he did so. “Okay, you win! Thursday at 3.”

“Thursday at 3,” Natasha chirped back cheerily. He hated the way she so smugly snuggled back into her spot on the cough, _his_ couch! A couch that should be off limits to any traitors such as Natasha, but then again she was good company and she always payed for the takeout they ordered. So, perhaps she wasn’t all that bad, still a traitor but not all that bad.

Steve moved his way from the small living room to the even smaller kitchen, one of the perks of being poor in New York was that your apartment was the smallest fucking place in the world. Not like that was an actual perk, Steve was just always one to see the glass as half full. Steve stared at the calendar that hung on the fridge by an American flag magnet. It was flipped to the month of August, displaying a picture of two piglets with tiaras atop their heads in a red wagon. Steve thanked the calendar gods for a piglet calendar every time he stepped foot in the kitchen, his eyes filled with tears of adoration for the adorable creatures.

Steve, however, was pretty sure the chill that came in through the open windows, and the fact that they were no longer running the air conditioning were all signs that pointed to it no longer being August.

“Natasha what month is it?” Steve called out.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” He heard Natasha muttering rather loudly under her breath. “It’s almost November Steve.”

“So, it is in fact not August?” Steve asked, as he turned the calendar to the month of October. He could hear Natasha cursing him in Russian, at least he suspected she was laying some kind of hex on him, she was always intimidating like that. He shrieked, audibly much to his chagrin, when his eyes met the October picture. Natasha came rushing into the kitchen upon his little outburst in a panic.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Steve was bent at the waist, his hands on his knees as he struggled for breath. “Do you see this?” He pointed dramatically to the picture on the calendar. He was actually getting rather concerned with himself, and he thought he may actually cry, though that wouldn’t be the first time. “It is a piglet sitting inside a jack-o-lantern.”

Natasha just nodded giving him a concerned look. Steve’s eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his skull, “How can you look so calm, when _this_ ” He emphasized by dramatically pointing at the picture. “Is the cutest thing in the entire world?”

“Calm down Steven you are going to give yourself an asthma attack,” Natasha laughed patting him on the back as he sputtered his words.

“Fuck off, I haven’t had an asthma attack since 2007,” Steve proudly announced even though he was still huffing oxygen into his lungs at an alarming rate.

“Who can forget the great Britney Spears Fiasco of 2007,” Natasha teased smoothly, voice almost a monotone, as her lips curled into the vicious shark like grin she so confidentially sported.

“Leave Britney alone!” Steve cried out in his best Chris Crocker impression, which he has to admit was pretty fucking spot on, scarily so. Must be because he lived by those exact words all through that year, and well into her eventual rise back into stability. Though, he made the executive decision to ignore the entirety of 2013 thanks to the flop known as Britney Jean, but even if he did work out to Work B*tch no one had to know that.

“So,” Steve dragged out the word stalling for time, because he knew his upcoming question would just ignite the fire in Natasha even more. He had learned to tread lightly around the fiery Russian woman. “What’s todays date?”

“Fucking unbelievable!” She erupted. There was a hint of loving amusement in her rage though, and if Steve didn’t know better he would laugh. “It’s the 26th.”

Upon further inspection of the calendar Steve discovered that the 26th of October was in fact a Wednesday. Meaning that today was Wednesday, and that tomorrow was Thursday. Which, therefor meant that tomorrow, Thursday, was when he Steve Rogers had an appointment at 3.

“Fuck! Nat why didn’t you tell me it was tomorrow?” Steve groaned. He was in nowhere mentally prepared to leave his apartment tomorrow. He needed at least a five days freak out notice, before having to do anything.

“Calm down,” Natasha rolled her eyes, and took the red pen Steve was clutching tightly in his hand. In big cursive letters she wrote ‘Hair Appointment @ 3’ in the white box designated for the 27th of October, a Thursday, the day after today, tomorrow. Steve felt nauseous.

Steve couldn’t sleep, he decided to give up on that notion a long time ago. Sleep and him just didn’t agree anymore, and if that meant inhaling the largest strongest cup of coffee at 6pm just to get him through the rest of the day he didn’t mind. So, yeah Steve couldn’t sleep tonight, because he had an appointment tomorrow at 3. He turned on his side, tangled in the blankets and wanted to scream when he saw the time on the little alarm clock sitting on his bedside table. Right in front of his face in stupid red letters the clock showed the time as 12:30am, meaning that his appointment was now not tomorrow, but today. Steve had a hair appointment at 3 today, and without his much needed five days of freak out he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do.

Getting up, he threw on a pair of jeans he found on the floor, and a gray t-shirt. He stuffed his wallet in his pocket, and left his apartment unlocked, because he was insane and hated the way his keys felt in his pocket. Though, getting robbed was probably more irritating than the way his keys felt in his jeans pocket. Steve, though despite his best efforts, was not exactly a rational person when it was almost 1am and he hadn’t slept in three days, and he didn’t want to feel his stupid keys in his jeans pocket and decided to risk it, because of course yolo.

His apartment was not in exactly the best neighborhood, but Steve was tall enough, and broad enough that he was pretty sure not many people would want to rough him up. His younger self, small and sickly, would have done the same thing he was doing, though that’s just because he was thick-headed and a bit of an idiot. Walking alone, in the middle of the night to the noodle place a block away was something that has become a bit of a ritual to Steve, and yes he did find it rather offensive when Nat had said that it didn’t count as actual human interaction. Steve had exactly three friends, and one of those friends was the guy who worked the night shift at the 24/7 noodle place, and he was seemingly human. So in Steve’s eyes it should count.

“Steve!” He was greeted when he walked into the small noodle place. One of these days Steve may even bother learning the name of this place, but that would require him looking up from his shoes, and actually looking at the sign. It’s a surprise he ever found his way inside of here.

“I got something new for you to try,” The man standing behind the counter pushed a steaming bowl of noodles towards him.

“Thanks Clint,” Steve took the bowl and examined it skeptically. The noodles looked harmless themselves, but they were bathed in a thick green paste that looked nothing like an Italian pesto, or anything that a sane person would eat. There was also a toxic fume rising from the bowl that could clear anyone’s sinuses in a second flat. Seeing as Steve was not a sane person though, he picked up a white plastic fork and spun some noodles around it. He held out the fork to Clint, in a toasting gesture, before sticking the large amount of noodles in his mouth.

Steve would be a hypocrite if he said he didn’t believe in regret, and that you should without regret, and carpe diem and all that shit. There were a million things Steve regretted and they all hit him at 3am when he couldn’t sleep, which was basically every night. So, Steve knew all about the things he regretted. Like how he regretted never asking Peggy Carter to prom in high school, or how he regretted never making that one witty comeback to the guy ripping his ticket at the movie theater in 2010 when he went and saw Megamind. Those were his top two regrets in a never ending list of regrets, and eating these noodles were now on par with those regrets, because damn they were spicy.

“What the fuck Clint,” Steve coughed violently. He really thought he was going to throw up on the table. He looked around thankful that there was no one else inside of the dinky restaurant, because the only thing he could think about right now was _oh my god I’m going to throw up right here on this table_.

“Wasabi noodles,” Clint says so matter of factly if Steve wasn’t seeing Jesus’ hands coming down to pick him up off the earth he would have punched him.

“Water,” Steve gasps like he’s reenacting that scene in Spongebob. There were literal tears rolling down his face, as he saw his life flash before his eyes, this was the end. He was going to die doing a bad impression of a thirsty Spongebob. On the bright side at least he wouldn’t have to go to his hair appointment.

“Here you go you big baby,” Clint laughed as he gave Steve a glass of water. Steve drank the entire glass in one go, he wasn’t sure if he was doing it to actually relieve the burning sensation in his mouth, or to drown himself so the pain would go away faster.

“Clint,” Steve gasped. It felt like he had been punched in the stomach, he couldn’t breathe. “You motherfucker.”

Clint just doubled over laughing, like Steve’s pain was the funniest thing he had ever gotten to witness. When in fact it wasn’t because he looked at his stupid dumb face in the mirror every day. Steve was pleased with that witty retort and decided to try it on for size.

“Your face is what’s so funny,” Steve mutters, and then quickly realizes that he should never try and make a comeback again, ever in his life, because none of them ever make sense out of the context of his own mind.

Another bowl was pushed under his nose, and again it was green. It looked like ice cream and Steve would be damned if he fell for that again. “Nu-uh.”

Clint sighed dramatically like he was the one that had the right to be frustrated, even though he wasn’t the one who was just almost murdered for someone else’s amusement.

“Don’t scowl at me Rogers I am not the one who made you eat that. You did that out of your own volition.” Clint pushed the bowl closer to him and stuck a plastic spoon in it. “It’s green tea ice cream. I figured your people like that kinda shit.”

“My people?” Steve questioned perplexed by what that meant. “What? The gays?”

“Christ, Rogers I’m not that into stereotyping,” Clint laughed and physically face palmed, which Steve saw as an overreaction to his honest confusion. “I’m talking about hipsters.”

“I’m not a hipster,” Steve whined. He shoved the spoon in his mouth, he figured if he was already making a night out of these bad decisions he shouldn’t stop here, “Shit, this is good.”

“See, hipster,” Clint nods.

“Not a hipster,” Steve muttered around a large mass of ice cream he shoveled into his mouth.

“You have a flip phone,” Clint quipped back in a monotone voice.

“It’s not just a flip phone Clint it is a Motorola Razr,” Steve corrected, and that phone has been his baby ever since Paris Hilton flashed hers on the red carpet. Steve knows realistically that no one man should have had the same phone since 2004, but that’s just a representation of his self-preservation or at least that’s how he rationalizes it.

“You wear stupid glasses,” Clint adds on.

“So I can see!” Steve lets out an exasperated groan.

“They don’t have to be stupid ya’ know. Ever heard of contacts or Lasik eye surgery what about that?” Clint amply took his glasses off of his face, which wouldn’t be so annoying if he didn’t need them to see. “Woah, fuck oh my God you _are_ blind.”

“Yeah, I know. And I have contacts I just take them off before bed, and I usually come here when I’m supposed to be in bed so I wear my glasses,” Steve explains, and it suddenly dawns on him that he’s never once actually hung out with Clint outside of the noodle place. Which really says something when one of his three friends is basically payed to hang out with him, like some kind of noodle prostitute. Not like there’s anything wrong with that, but it certainly doesn’t scream intimate friendship.

“So, I heard from a little birdy that you have a hair appointment today,” Clint smirks, because he knows how Steve feels about this. After a two hour rant of the unnecessary emotional damages that hair salons can equip on a person, Clint should sure as hell know about Steve’s disdain of them.

“Yeah,” Is all Steve says hoping Clint will just drop it, because on the inside Steve is screaming. He was so close to being relaxed, he just really missed his five day freak out period. “I don’t know I might not go.”

Clint laughed at that, a short loud guffaw, “No you won’t.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, because Clint is right. He’s way too nice to just skip out on an appointment, and he’s way too much of a nervous wreck to call and cancel the appointment the day of it. Some people were trying to make a living here.

“It’ll be fine though. Bucky’s my roommate. He’s totally cool, when he’s not being an absolute brat, but I doubt he’ll cut your ear off so calm the fuck down,” Clint reassures him.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Steve asks. “I thought Nat said I was seeing her friend James.”

“Oh, yeah same guy,” Clint clarifies and honestly Steve would ask how the hell you get Bucky from James, but he knows Clint, and Clint knows a lot of weird people. Honestly, Clint was a weird guy. Nice enough, sure, but Steve has heard the stories Clint tells, and they are weird. So. Steve isn’t so sure a guy who would willingly share an apartment with Clint is a good contender to be the person who’s going to be holding sharp objects near his face.

“I gotta go,” Steve breathes the words out in a huff, before rushing out the door. He was so sick of being out of breath today it was tiring. He checks his phone for the time 2:17am, and he wants to cry because there’s still so much night left and he knows he’s not going to be sleeping anytime soon.

“Time is a concept Rogers,” He mumbles to himself as he walks straight through a puddle, because he’s decided to continue his night of bad decisions. He keeps walking, going in the opposite direction of his apartment, because he has a lot of time to burn, and cat videos on YouTube don’t seem appealing at the moment. Typically that would seem like an appalling thing for Steve to think, because when are cat videos not appealing? Tonight, though was the Night of Bad Decisions™ and cat videos were never a bad decision.  That’s why Steve walked in the opposite direction of his apartment, hands in his pockets, and eyes focused at his shoes.

He stopped walking when he heard some commotion in the alleyway. He turned to find some guy feeling up a girl, who clearly did not want it. “Night of Bad Decisions™,” Steve said aloud to himself, cringing when he actually said the ™ out loud.

“Hey buddy,” Steve tapped the scum bag on his shoulder. “Think you could listen when a lady says no?”

The guy turned toward and snarled his bad breath hitting Steve in the face, and it was almost as bad as the stench from the wasabi noodles. The man still had the woman pinned up against the wall with one arm the other reaching around to hit Steve in the gut. It probably hurt the guy more than it hurt Steve, and Steve thanked the Lord for giving him the right amount of will power to actually go to the gym.

“Hey, back off man,” The man growled like some kind of rabid animal. “I know what she wants.”

“I don’t think you do man,” Steve insisted and grabbed the man off the woman, who quickly ran away from the two. Steve lifted the man off the ground, and socked him in the nose. The guy fell to the ground clutching his face, and groaning in pain.

Steve was contemplating calling the police, or maybe an ambulance he did hit that guy pretty hard, when a voice caught his attention.

“Holy shit,” The voice said, and Steve looked to see a guy leaning against the brick a cigarette hanging from his lips. “You beat the fuck out of that guy.”

“Well, he was messing with a woman,” Steve explained feeling defensive. “I don’t like bullies.”

The guy nodded a little half smile flashed across his face, “You wanna get inside before this guy gets up?”

Steve’s mind was yelling at him to say no and walk away. Practically chanting _say no say no say_ _no_ “Sure.”

So, that is how he started following cigarette guy through the back door, into what he learned was a club. He also learned that cigarette guy was really fucking attractive. He had long dark hair pulled into what could only be classified as a trendy man bun, with loose strands batting at his face, and really tight black jeans on that made his thighs look so good, and fuck was he wearing eyeliner? Steve was literally drooling, there was drool coming out of his mouth and sliding down his face.

He couldn’t believe how committed he was to the Night of Bad Decisions™ the last time he was ever this committed to anything was when Natasha bet him $20 that he wouldn’t wear his Cobra Starships t-shirt to Christmas mass with his mother, and that was almost three years ago. The $20 was worth the disappointed look in his mother’s eyes, though.

 Inside the building there was about a million fucking people, like the entirety of New York City packed into this club, and the bass was so fucking loud Steve could feel it in his dick. Though, he really couldn’t complain about that. He was pretty sure it was unhealthy how fast he started dripping sweat though. He wasn’t sure if it was because all the bodies packed so closely together generated a lot of heat, or because he was so nervous. He settled for his sweating problem to have actually been caused by how hot cigarette guy was.

He followed cigarette guy through the crowd, and at this point Steve was pretty certain he was going to have to start capitalizing Cigarette Guy as that was obviously now his name. Cigarette Guy led him to the bar, and that’s when Steve’s consciousness decided to start fucking screaming. Steve felt the achingly familiar feeling of panic rise in his chest, it felt like his heart was replaced with a loud drum.

“Hey man, I don’t really wanna drink.” Steve bit down on his tongue hard to stop the impending word vomit from coming out of his mouth.

“Alright,” Cigarette Guy said with a shrug and a chuckle. Steve cursed at him for being so casual and calming. Steve didn’t want to be calm Steve wanted to be home. The duo had finally pushed and shuffled their way to the bar.

“Hey ma-“ Steve started again, he was going to ask for directions to the bathroom and pray to the gods that he could fit through the window if there even was one, but was interrupted by the bartender.

“It’s the Winter Soldier!” The bartender belted boisterously in an accented voice. Steve was sure he was dead, he was sure of it. The wasabi noodles killed him, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to spite Clint or thank him. At this very moment it was leaning heavily towards thank, because the bartender was attractive. Like insanely so. He was tall, broad, and muscular as hell with long blond hair and bright blue eyes. And Steve was so gay.

Cigarette Guy laughed and shook his head, “C’mon Thor you know I don’t do that shit anymore.”

Steve wasn’t sure wasn’t sure what constituted as “that shit” but he was putting his money on porn, maybe that was just wishful thinking. Steve had half the mind to Google it when he got home, because damn those thighs would look so good in action. Steve was definitely sure if he could sleep he’d have a dirty dream featuring Cigarette Guy, or Winter Soldier, or whatever his name was. He could cry right now just from thinking about it. Yup, Steve was so gay, and so sad, and so sexually frustrated.

“I see you’ve brought a friend,” Thor – the bartender – motions his head to Steve, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

“Shit man!” Cigarette Guy exclaims. “You shoulda seen him. Fucking clocked this guy right in the face it was amazing!”

“He deserved it,” Steve mutters. “Was harassing women.”

“Then a well deserving punch,” Thor says and sets out three shot glasses filling them up, with what Steve can only assume is vodka, because it sure as hell ain’t water. “Calls for a well deserving shot. On the house friend.”

“Hell yes,” Cigarette guys drags out his words with a big smile on his face, and picks up two glasses and hands one to Steve.

“To an unsuspecting hero,” Cigarette Guy announces and him and Thor both toast towards Steve.

 Going along with Night of Bad Decisions™ Steve raises up his glass, “To free booze.”

They all three throw back their shots, and Steve almost feels relaxed. He’s not entirely sure it has to do with just the alcohol. There is a sort of electricity that is running through the building, and Cigarette Guy looks, adorable quite frankly, he’s practically vibrating in place, bumping up and down to the beat of the music.

Cigarette Guy inches closer to Steve and smacks a hand against his chest, “You gonna dance with me?”

Steve feels a blush rise to his cheeks, and he wishes the wasabi noodles really did kill him, “I can’t – I mean… I can’t dance.”

Cigarette Guy laughs, and looks up at Steve with big stupid grey blue eyes, and yup that was definitely eyeliner, “Look out there. Look at all these people, there like a million of them out there, and not a single one know how to dance. You’ll fit in fine.”

Steve looked down at his feet, his brown leather boots were worn and scuffed. “I don’t know.”

Cigarette Guy hit the top of the bar in quick succession, “Thor two shots of whatever has the highest alcohol content please.”

He handed Steve the little shot glass, and smiled a wicked grin, like he knew he was going to get his way. This would have irritated Steve if he didn’t know that Cigarette Guy was 100% fucking right. He downed the shot, and grimaced at the taste he was never one for hard alcohol. The last time he actually got drunk was the last time he actually drank any alcohol, and it’s a pretty lame story. He was studying for some stupid math test which doesn’t make sense because why would an art major need to study math, but anyways Natasha had brought over Mike’s Hard Strawberry Lemonade and he drank four. He was already trying to hump his body pillow after 1 and a half, because he was a shameless ball of sexual frustration when drunk. He fell asleep on the toilet that night, and then he missed his math test but he can’t complain because he actually fell asleep so that was a plus.

Cigarette Guy had his hand in his own, and was dragging him into the crowd of sweaty drunk people. He really didn’t remember agreeing to dance with him, but yet again there he was. Cigarette Guy was essentially grinding on him, and Steve was trying not to enjoy this so much, if you know what he means, but his pants kept getting tighter.

Steve just decided to be a prop for Cigarette Guy occasionally moving his hips to match his pace, but other than that he stood there looking rather flushed. He was pretty sure this guy was too drunk to care what he did anyway. The song quickly changed, and Steve found himself surprised when Cigarette Guy turned to face him.

“I love this song,” He shouted over the music, and his lips were so pink and his eyes wild and the sheen of sweat on his skin only made him more desirable. Steve bit his lip to keep from crying or proposing, because that’s how irrational he was feeling right now.

“Yeah me too,” Steve agreed emphatically even though he didn’t know this song. He didn’t know any of the songs they were playing, because his personal playlist was inclusive to only Britney Spears and Carly Rae Jepsen’s iconic album Emotion.

Cigarette Guy wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and pushed their crotches together tightly, almost painfully so. Steve felt a tightening in his chest that felt a lot less like panic and a lot more like desire. His hands shook where they were clenched together by his sides, now that, that was panic. Should he wrap his arms around Cigarette Guy’s waist? Maybe he should go for the hip grab, or the fingers through the belt loop? Should he go for an ass grab or is that too forward? It’s been awhile since he’s done anything like this, and by awhile Steve of course means he’s never done anything like this before, and yes he is freaking out!

He was torn out of his musings by someone pulling Cigarette Guy off of him and shouting, “You!”

“Oh! Hey Darcy!” Cigarette Guy laughed and hugged a dark haired girl in a figure hugging dress. Steve didn’t understand anything anymore, because apparently attractive people were the only people this guy would be associated with.

“I brought you something,” Darcy said cheerily and shoved her hand down the front of her dress retrieving whatever she wanted to give Cigarette Guy, out of her cleavage. She handed it to him, and then kissed him right on the lips. “I’ll see you around, ugly”

“See you round too Darce,” Cigarette Guy laughed and turned back to Steve. “Hey you want one?”

Steve looked and saw that he was holding out a pill to him. Steve being a good person having gone to youth group in his teen years, knows that drugs are basically the equivalent to slaughtering a child and sacrificing them to Satan. Then again so was taking dick up the ass, but Steve decided years ago that it was completely different when you literally couldn’t help who you loved. Steve ran a nervous hand through his hair, and noped the fuck out of that place. He literally sprinted away from Cigarette Guy without looking back, and panic ran until he found the door. The Night of Bad Decisions™ didn’t last that long.

Once outside Steve checked his phone it was only 4:38 and none of his friends would be awake so he couldn’t complain to them. Steve contemplated getting a cab back home so he could complain to the cab driver, but after checking his wallet he found he only hand three dollars and a half eaten stick of gum. So, he walked back to his apartment.

Steve sat in his bed in his boxer briefs, Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives playing on his Netflix account on his laptop, and he was eating Special K Chocolatey Delight cereal straight out of the box. Steve related to the chefs on Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives and their panic stricken faces when Guy Fieri bit into their food. That’s how he felt on a 24/7 basis, like an innocent chef waiting for the final word of our Lord and Savior Guy Fieri on whether or not they got into Flavor Town.

He called Natasha at 6am and she yelled at him in Russian so he hung up. He then called Sam, because even if he was sleeping Sam would probably listen to him. Sam Wilson was the most rational of all his friends, even if he did own a fucking bird. Sam’s bird was dumb too it couldn’t even say any words. Steve would be okay with Sam owning a bird if it could at least sing Happy Birthday or swear or something.

“What do you want Rogers,” Sam grumbled. “You know I’m fine with you not sleeping, but bringing me into it just seems cruel and unusual.”

“Sorry,” Steve mutters. “I just had a really weird night, and I found out yesterday I have a hair appointment today at 3.”

“Woah, what ever happened to the five day freak out period?” Sam asked dryly, and Steve could tell he was being sarcastic, but decided to pretend he wasn’t, because just for once it would be nice to have someone on his side.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Steve sighs dramatically.

“So you gonna tell me about your wild night?” Sam questioned with a suggestive tone.

“Shut up it wasn’t like that,” Steve groaned. “Just I met this guy an-“

“Ohh you met a guy?”

“Shut up. We danced and stuff and I thought it was going good and then he offered me drugs,” Steve groaned as he remembered the events of the night.

“So, what’d you do?” Steve really, really did not want to answer that. No sane man would do what he did. He was considering lying to Sam, but Steve was a shit liar, especially to his friends.

“I ran away,” Steve cringed at himself. Why was he like this?

“You gotta be shitting me?” Sam asked between breathes of laughter. “Oh my God. You ran away? Like dropped everything without a word just ran?”

“Sam,” Steve whined.

“Rogers you are a mess,” Sam was still laughing, and Steve’s whole body felt hot, flush with embarrassment. “Why are you on the phone with me Rogers? You are wasting prime freak out hours. Remember, appointment at 3.”

“How could I forget it? Bye,” Steve said and hung up his phone dramatically tossing it to the other side of the bed. Everything Steve did was dramatic these days, probably to make up for how pathetic his actual life is.

It was 2:58 and Steve was outside S.H.I.E.L.D Salon pacing like a lunatic. He was muttering to himself, about how he needed to man up. He asked himself if Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson would back down from something like this, only to realize that Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson would in fact not be needing a haircut anytime soon. He couldn’t believe his own idol would let him down like this. All this muttering and pacing could lead to a good thing though, some unsuspecting PTA mom could call the cops on him. He could get arrested for loitering, or being a public nuisance. That would probably be better than going into his appointment in exactly one minute.

Steve held his breath, and then tried to even his breathing out. He stared at his phone until the 2:59 changed to 3:00 before clenching his fists and going inside.

“Hello,” A blonde woman behind the cash register greeted. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh,” Steve forgot how to talk, he forgot how to breathe, and he forgot how to see. His brain was broken the blonde woman behind the cash register broke his brain. “Yeah… Yeah at three with uh… With James.”

Steve let out a large breathe of hair hoping it would relieve the pressure in his chest, it didn’t.

“Alright, James is just cleaning his station he’ll be with you shortly. You’re welcome to have a seat. You want anything to drink water, Corona, soda?” The blonde woman asked him with a soft smile.

Steve’s hands were so sweaty he was pretty sure if she handed him anything to drink he would just drop it, and that is something he would like to avoid. In fact, his whole body was sweaty and gross and he thanked God that he was wearing Secret’s stress tested deodorant. Sure it was for women, and sure he wasn’t fighting to close the wage gap, but he was still a mess, and that shit works so it was worth it. Fuck genders anyways, right? That was Steve’s rational at least. Pit stains were unattractive and gross.

“You Steve?” He heard someone ask, and Steve looked up from his shoes in the direction of the voice. Steve was fairly certain he was going on day four of no sleep, so this couldn’t be a nightmare, but perhaps it was a hallucination. A hallucination seemed like a good choice because it wouldn’t be the first time it has happened. Steve decided he would take some of that non-habit forming Advil®PM when he got home.

Cigarette Guy, or Winter Soldier, or James, or Bucky, Christ this guy had a lot of names, was still staring at him with those stupid eyeliner rimmed gray blue eyes, waiting for an answer. Steve was really close to saying no, and running away. He was really really close to doing that, but it appeared that Cigarette Guy (guess that name stuck) didn’t remember him.

“Yeah,” Steve finally answered after a very uncomfortably long period of time.

“Alright,” James answered, with uncertainty laced in his voice. Steve knew he caused that by being a fucking weirdo. “This way then.”

Steve was led to a chair in the middle of the salon, and he was right there were glass walls, and everyone was going to see him. Steve wanted to let out a long groan, or maybe a scream but neither seemed appropriate for this situation.

“Take a seat and we’ll discuss what ya lookin’ to get.” James motioned to the chair, and Steve sat down his body moving like the fucking Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz before he was oiled. Steve whimpered inwardly to himself _Glenda I need you_. Because if the Good Witch wasn’t a gay icon he didn’t know what a gay icon was anymore.

“What?” James asked him with a concerned smile on his lips.

“What?” Steve asked back, because this was bad.

“Glenda I need you?” James laughed. “You said, “Glenda I need you.””

“Oh. My. God.” Steve groaned face palming. He could feel his face heat up. “I can’t believe I said that out loud. Oh my God I am so gay.”

“Is this a new revolution?” James smirked, and Steve felt his face turn even redder than it was before.

“Not really,” Steve managed to wheeze out. James laughed loudly, like it was really funny, and Steve was glad his actual pain and emotional torment could be used as humor for him.

“So,” James started, and smacked his lips together. Steve’s stomach did actual flips at that sound and he wanted to slam his face against the mirror. “What were you thinkin’?”

“Uhm,” Steve chewed on his lip. “I’ve never gotten a haircut before so I don’t know, like this but I don’t know shorter? I guess that’s the point of a haircut.”

James laughed and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, “Hm, I spose it is. You know what I think would look real good on you though?”

Steve swallowed, James had such a low Brooklyn drawl that made the top of Steve’s palms tingle, and if that was fucking weird he didn’t care. “Uh, what?”

“A Van Gogh.” Steve literally let out an audible yelp, it was under his breathe but it was there now traveling the wavelengths or whatever. He looked in the mirror and met James’ eyes that way. He had an evil smile on his lips, and scissors hanging lazily in his left hand. Steve sputtered his words, not knowing what to say, he could hardly breathe. This guy was psychotic, he knew there was a reason to not trust pretty boys or hair salons.

“Oh my God,” James started cackling, like honest to God cackling like a maniac. Steve clutched onto the arm rests for dear life, scouting out the quickest exit. “Nat was right. Oh my God you should see your face. Look in the mirror look at your face oh my God.”

Steve got it now, and immediately relaxed, but that didn’t settle the feeling in his stomach at all. “Asshole,” Steve muttered.

“Awh, Stevie I’m sorry,” James teased. Steve’s breathe hitched in his throat, because Stevie? Stevie? He called him Stevie? A pet name, and they haven’t even known each other for more than ten minutes. If you don’t count last night at least, which Steve decided not to because _someone_ didn’t remember him.

“Alright let’s make you look nice,” James said with a relaxed smile. He had such a pretty smile, such pretty lips. Steve groaned inwardly, but when was he not groaning inwardly? He would have to be more conservative with his thoughts since his mouth has decided to run without his permission. “If you could follow me, I’m gonna wash your hair.”

Steve followed James into the back of the salon to the hair washing stations. Steve sat down in the chair and leaned his head back. He really didn’t like this, his neck was in full view, and he’s seen Sweeney Todd he knows how it goes. He really isn’t in the mood for Helena Bonham Carter to cut him up in a bunch of pieces to put in some weird British pie.

“Let me know if it’s too hot,” James tells him and turns the water on. Steve closes his eyes, because the spots on the ceiling are starting to move, and that’s not natural. James lathers his hair with shampoo, or something and then… _Oh, shit_ Steve screams to himself _He is massaging my head._ This under any circumstances would not be normal for Steve. Never once has he had the desire to have his head massaged, he wasn’t that big of a fan of getting his hair washed by a stranger in the first place. Seeing as this head massaging stranger was extremely attractive did nothing to help the situation, and all those things are what ultimately led to Steve choking on his own spit.

He shot up suddenly wet sudsy hair falling in front of his face, as he hacked his literal lung out of his chest. “Oh my God are you okay?” James asked him, turning the water off.

“Peach-“ Steve attempted only to be interrupted by violent coughs erupting from his throat. Well, this is how he was going to die. He was going to die here in S.H.I.E.L.D Salon, because he choked on his own spit while getting a head massage. That would make a glorious epitaph for someone to piss on.

“Oh my God,” James panicked. “I’m gonna go get you some water. Just try to breathe okay?”

James came back with a plastic water bottle in hand, and handed it over to Steve, who was still coughing his lungs out. Steve was surprised there wasn’t any blood, because it sure as hell felt like he was going to die.

“Drink it!” James demands his eyes wide. “Don’t just stare at it drink it.”

Steve nods and manages to drink half of the bottle without coughing. He clears his throat and manages to take a few steady breaths. “Thanks.”

James shrugged, “No problem. Didn’t wanna see you die on me. That’d be bad for business.”

So, Steve leaned back in his seat, and James continued to massage his head, and it was weird and silent, and Steve’s lungs still burned.

“Alright,” James broke the silence and Steve opened his eyes. “Sit up.”

Steve did as he was told and James wrapped a towel around his head. “Head back to the seat. I’ll meet ya’ there in second.”

Steve nodded, and began walking to the front of the salon, and he felt like such a dud. Everyone was staring at him as he walked back in, and everything was too much. The cold air of the air conditioning hitting him in the face when he walked under the vent, the bright incessant lighting of the fluorescent bars overhead, the pop music playing on the salons speakers. All Steve wanted was someone to quite literally hold his hand and guide him back to his seat, but he guessed he was too old for that and had to man up and do it on his own or whatever. Which was kind of really lame, but he has accepted his fate of being one of the most awkward people in the entire state of New York, if not the world.

Steve slouched in the leather chair, putting his feet on the footrest on the chair, which made him feel even more foolish. He wasn’t sure why because the footrests where obviously there for a reason, so he should obviously use them. But his garbage anxiety was telling him different.

James finally returned, and Steve felt slightly better with another presence near him. “Time to make ya look good Stevie.”

Then it was silence again as James snipped at his hair, and Steve tried not to flinch away when the scissors got to close to his ears. Steve was about to shove his own fist in his mouth, out of sheer awkwardness when James decided to speak.

“So, where’d ya run off to last night?”

Steve wanted to let out a velociraptor screech, like he was auditioning to star in Jurassic World 2 alongside Jimmy Buffet, whose cameo was vastly underrated and arguably the best part of the first film. So, James did remember. Today has become increasingly worse than what it should have been, and Steve is blaming Natasha for it.

“I didn’t think you remembered,” Steve mutters, and he really wishes he wasn’t already slouched in his chair, because then he could have slouched in his chair as he said those words.

“Don’t think I could forget a fella like you, Stevie,” James grinned, at least Steve thought he was grinning he wouldn’t actually know though, because he decided staring at the stop sign across the street was way better than actually looking in the mirror at James.

“Jesus,” Steve mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck. He was really sick of turning red today.

“I have many alias’ but Jesus is not one of them, sorry,” James laughed, and Christ Steve wanted to cry, because James was actually flirting with him. The super-hot guy with the thick thighs, and the trendy man bun was flirting with him. Steve was really tempted to do the sign of the cross and recite some Hail Mary’s, but that probably wasn’t a good idea for a guy who was literally burning in his own personal hell.

“You offered me drugs,” Steve blurted out. There was a beat of silence between the two, and Steve flicked his eyes to the mirror just in time to see James’ face heat up.

“Yeah,” James said, more to himself than to Steve, and then cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Uh,” Steve was attempting to speak, he really was. It’s just that his literal brain was broken. “Did you – uh… did you, ya know?”

“Yeah… Yeah I did,” James blushed harder, and Steve was almost impressed by himself, because it’s not every day you make a cute boy blush. “Not both, that’d be crazy, but yeah I did.”

“Oh,” Steve nods his head a little. Today was quite possibly the day he would have an actual asthma attack after 9 years of being free from them. Steve made the decision that for the rest of the appointment he was going to shut the fuck up, and the not speak. He needed to preserve his sanity, and that was the only way he knew how. That’s why Steve was surprised when he found himself having a bad case of word diarrhea all over the salon floor, “So… How was it? How was the ya know? The drugs… Yeah. How was it?”

James laughed, he had such a nice laugh, and he’s laughed so much since Steve has met him. It was a glorious thing, his laugh sounded like the trumpets the angels played when Jesus was born or some shit. “Stevie if you ever wanna know, you know who to come to.”

Steve’s heart was beating so fast, and shit did he actually wink. He did, he actually winked at him. Steve closed his eyes ridiculously tight waiting for the pressure in his chest to subside, it never did. He went back to staring at the stop sign across the street. Then he heard an electric whirring sound, and _oh shit_ that was a razor. Steve held his breath, he was hoping if he did it long enough he would pass out. His will power, though strong, was sadly not strong enough for that, and he sorely went back to breathing like a semi-normal person.

“I’m just gonna blow dry your hair, and then we’ll be all done here.” James ran both his hands through Steve’s hair, with a really concentrated expression on his face. It was so endearing, and so cute, and Steve was so smitten.

The sound of the blow dryer was not at all dissimilar to the warped sounds that usually hit Steve’s ears at moments like this. It was a welcoming noise that broke uncomfortable silence. Steve was sad when it stopped, but that meant he was only minutes away from his freedom. He tapped his foot anxiously as he thought about the cool wind, and sharp sun that awaited him outside. He felt like he had been trapped inside the salon for years.

“Looks like we’re all done here,” James informed with a large dopey smile. “Whatcha think?”

Steve looked in the mirror, he looked… He looked good. He smiled back at James, “Well, it’s shorter so I guess that’s good.”

He followed James to the register, and he payed _holy fuck $30 for a haircut,_ and then he tipped way too much on top of that, but the poor guy had to put up with him almost dying on multiple occasions it was just fair compensation at that point.

“Hope to see you again, Steve,” James flashed him a flirtatious smile, and Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth. He was going to do this, he was going to flirt, and be smooth, and make a good impression.

“Thanks James,” Steve attempted flashing a similar flirty smile, but like all things in his life that didn’t turn out as planned. He probably looked like a freak who got dust in his eye or something.

“Call me Bucky.”

Before Steve could even think the words were flying out of his mouth without his permission, “Call me maybe.”

And with that, he attempted to run out the door, but it was a push door, and he was so clearly pulling. “God damn it,” he whined and he swears he could hear that blonde girl from before laughing at him and Bucky’s voice mumbling ‘shut up’ but that was probably just wishful thinking.

He did however, eventually make it out of the salon, and almost threw himself onto the sidewalk so he could curl up into a ball and cry. He didn’t do that, but only because of the fucking glass walls, and he was done perpetually embarrassing himself in front of Bucky.

“Nat,” Steve whined into his bowl of ice cream. He deserved this ice cream after everything he had to endure. Mint chocolate chip ice cream, was reserved for men such as Steve, men who had to triumph over impossible times. That’s what Steve liked to think, but he actually felt more like the grandma who drowned in that acid lake in Dante’s Peak. He related to her.

“Stop whining Steve,” Natasha chided.

“Nat,” Steve whined louder, dragging out her name. “Why didn’t you tell me Bucky, was the hot Cigarette Guy from the club?”

“Cigarette Guy?” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? And what club?”

“Well, Natasha,” Steve pointedly gives her a glare. “You would know all about it if you didn’t curse at me this morning.”

Natasha just rolls her eyes, and Steve wouldn’t be so annoyed if he was actually overreacting, which he admits he does, like all the time. However, this time his reaction is completely deserved. “Nat, I’m being serious.”

“You slept with James.” Natasha didn’t even have the common courtesy to frame that as a question, she just said as if it was fact. Like it was the 11th commandment that Moses forgot to tell the Israelites about. And maybe Steve was actually that much of a garbage person that he was making dirty manna jokes but that’s nobody’s business but his.

“What?” Steve spluttered. “I did not sleep with Bucky. He offered me drugs!”

“You took drugs with James?” This was actually posed as question, and she actually looked surprised her eyes wide. Steve wanted to ignore the glimmer of proudness that shown in those wide eyes. That was not something one should be proud about. Drugs equal Satan, Steve knows this.

“What? No, I ran away.” Yup, there it was the deafening silence. Steve let the embarrassment sink into him and prayed an alien would come and abduct him. He thinks he would live a good life on a metal table inside of a flying saucer, the probing may be a little uncomfortable but nothing he hasn’t endured before. “And then he cut my hair today… And then I told him to call me maybe.”

“You quoted Carly Rae Jepsen at him?”

“Don’t you mean Carly Slay Jesuspen?” Steve corrected with a shit eating grin.

“Get up you lazy bum.” Natasha snatched the ice cream bucket out of his hands, and Steve let out a high pitched whine. If he was competing in the whining championship today he would at least come home with a bronze, but he was definitely shooting for silver. “We got to go to the gym.”

“But, Nat I hate the gym,” Yup, definitely going for silver.

“Shut up, we both know that’s a lie.” Steve was reminded of that guy on Catfish, you know the one, the “You got me there” guy, because that’s him right now. Steve loved the gym, like really, really loved the gym. It wasn’t just the sweaty muscular men that Steve loved either, he loved the adrenaline rush from pushing his body to the limits, and the reward of the pain the next day which meant his body was only getting stronger. Steve loved the gym, but not today. Today he decided that the gym was his worst enemy, and that he hated the gym. The gym could suck his angst riddled dick.

Yet, there he was at the gym spotting Natasha at the squat rack. He was being a completely shit work out partner though, the most encouraging thing he’s said thus far was probably, “Can we go now?”

“I know the only reason you’re spotting me is because you don’t want to actually workout,” Natasha eyes him feistily, before positioning the bar on her shoulders. “And quite frankly I do not need a spot.”

Steve knew that was his cue to fuck off, but he really didn’t want to work out today. He drug himself to the designated deadlift bar, because he felt that was a good representation of how he felt today… Dead. Even though he fucking hated deadlifts, and immediately regretted his decision. Steve picked up the stupid bar, after he put the stupid weights on the side, and lifted the stupid thing up to his chest before throwing it back down. Then he started crying, like literally crying. It wasn’t even that heavy! He felt his gym cred deteriorating by the second. The only plus was that it was a Thursday evening, and no one was ever at the gym on Thursday. Monday though, that was a different story.

“Oh my God,” Steve groaned, and he opted to be classy and laid face first on the weird matt that covered the surface of the floor. It smelled disgusting, but he was hoping the fumes would kill him. He was crying real tears while at the gym, for no real reason either. Just crying, because _why the hell not_ apparently.

Steve felt a hand on his shoulder, and he was sure it was God’s hand getting ready to ascend up into the sky, because he was dying of embarrassment. Steve looked up, and started to cry harder because the guy who was touching him possessed such magnificently sculpted traps that he was sure it was God, that could be the only explanation.

“Bucky’s friend are you okay?” A familiar accented voice asked, and oh it’s Thor the bartender.

Steve propped himself up on his elbows, “Oh, you know just working out.”

“I can see my friend,” Thor let out a jovial laugh. “Perhaps too hard.”

Steve pitifully wiped his t-shirt over his face, and moved so he was sitting cross legged on the matt. “Just a bad day.”

A very bad day, and Steve couldn’t help eyeing the women’s bathroom where he knew they had some little wooden portable sauna box. He could quite easily lock himself in that until he passed out. It would be much more enjoyable than watching this literal god look at him with such worry.

“Perhaps I could offer my assistance,” Thor speaks with such grandiosity, that Steve would feel bad about saying no, but this was Bucky’s friend so Steve had to tread lightly. This man could offer him drugs, or maybe he was a porn star like Bucky, and by his assistance he really meant dick, and while in theory that seems perfectly okay it actually wasn’t. Steve never even kissed on the first date, he had personal standards God damn it. 

“Uh, no it’s okay. That’s really not necessar-“ Steve stuttered out, before he was absolutely crushed against Thor. 

“A twenty-second hug reduces stress,” Thor announces as he squeezes Steve even harder. Steve couldn’t believe what was happening. One of the most attractive men he has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on was sitting on the gym floor hugging him. This wasn’t real, this was the start to a bad porno. “Increases oxytocin. My girlfriend told me that and she is quite smart.”

There goes the porno dream.

“Hey Steve what’s going on here?” He could practically hear the smirk on Natasha’s face, but all he could see was the fabric of Thor’s t-shirt.

“A twenty-second hug reduces stress,” Steve recites. “Increases oxytocin. His girlfriend told him that and she is quite smart.”

Thor pulled away from Steve and slapped him hard on the back, “Anything for a friend.”

Steve watched from his spot on the floor as Thor got up, and greeted Natasha before leaving to go to a different area of the gym. Steve was pretty sure he was glued to the floor, he didn’t know if he was ever going to be able to get up. He was going to have to change his mailing address to ‘the matt at the gym next to the designated deadlift bar’.

“I didn’t know you knew Thor,” Natasha smirked at him her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, I didn’t know you knew Thor,” Steve retorted copying Natasha’s posture. Natasha just lifted an eyebrow and Steve cracked, just like that honestly he was so spineless. “I met him at the club, he was bartending. And I was here just now crying, for no reason and he just hugged. He hugged me without my consent, he just hugged me.”  

“Steve,” Natasha said his name with such a strict conviction, he feared for the lesson she was going to give him. However, that lesson never came. She sank to her knees next to him and engulfed him in a hug, one arm wrapped around his waist, and a hand petting his hair. This was a strange occurrence because Natasha ruled with a strict hands-off approach. Steve attempted to bit back a sob but it came out in full force, and there he was crying on the gym floor for the second time that day. “Steve, when was the last time you’ve gotten any sleep?”

“Day four and running strong,” Steve answered with a meek smile.

“Steve,” Natasha put both her hands on either side of his face now and leveled his eyes to hers. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s not good for you.”

Steve nodded, not because he was actually going to listen he was way too stubborn for that, but because he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with how affectionate Nat was being. Honestly, it was weird. He still had hot tears running down his face, and his nose was getting alarmingly close to dripping with snot, that would not be a pretty picture.

“Nat,” Steve’s breath hitched on a sob. “Can we go home now, please?”

“Yeah,” Nat replied softly thumbing the tears off his face. “Let’s get you home.”

Steve honestly swears he was going to go to sleep tonight, but he was all out of his sleeping pills, and he didn’t feel like drinking an entire bottle of Nyquil because that stuff tasted worse than Satan’s asshole. So, that’s how Steve ended up watching Netflix on his laptop at 2:30am. He had just finished season one of Everybody Loves Raymond, when a daunting thought came floating into the forefront of his mind.

“Natasha,” Steve said into the phone. “Is Bucky a porn star?”

The line went dead and Steve frowned at his phone. Nat was such an inconsiderate friend bar the whole gym fiasco earlier. Steve needed to find out that answer tonight. He opened a new tab on his computer and stared at the Google search bar for a good five minutes, but it just felt like an invasion of privacy. Then Steve remembered _Clint,_ Clint was Bucky’s roommate and he’d certainly know if Bucky was a porn star, because Clint knows all that freaky kind of stuff.

Steve slipped his shoes on, opting to stay in his sweat pants and hoodie. It was almost 3am he didn’t have anyone to look good for. He left his apartment unlocked, keys on the kitchen counter, and set off to the noodle place.

The wind was dry tonight, which was good because Steve hated the rain. He was much more a blue sky and beaming sun kind of a guy. Which is ironic because that is actually the opposite of how Steve feels. He feels like an emotional tornado, not a light spring breeze. The pavement was looking rather spectacular tonight too, Steve thought to himself. He looked at his shoes, and then cringed because he was wearing his stupid, dare he say, hipster brown boots with sweat pants. He reminds himself it is not entirely his fault, because he couldn’t find his Converse, but then again he is the one who lost them in the first place. He can’t help but wonder where they went off to, and he really wishes there was a ceiling fan he could stare at ominously like he was in the Disney Channel original movie Don’t Look Under the Bed.

Steve pushed the door to the noodle place open, the bell that hung from it smacking against the glass of the door. “Clint this is important.”

Clint looked up from his magazine, which Steve was pretty sure was a vintage Playboy. A 1978 one by the looks of it because that sure as hell looked like Dolly Parton on the cover. “What do you need?”

“Is Bucky a porn star?”

Clint laughed, and laughed, and laughed. He laughed for what seemed like a good fifteen minutes, with tears streaming down his face. He walked from behind the counter so he could slap Steve on the back and sling an arm over his shoulders. “That’s a nice one, Steve. Oh my God thanks for the abs.”

“Clint, I am being serious,” Steve looked Clint dead in the eyes trying to muster up all the intimidating ferociousness he possessed.

“Why on earth would you think Bucky is a porn star?” Clint asked.

“Thor called him the Winter Soldier,” And as soon as Steve said it he realized how dumb he was. He honestly should keep his imagination to himself. He was really close to asking for more wasabi noodles, as an attempt to kill himself by consuming a whole bowl of them. Now that was an idea.

“That would be a fucking awful porn star name,” Clint tells him, and Steve knows to believe Clint on this, because again Clint knows all about the freaky kind of stuff. “That was what he was called when he sold drugs.”

“Bucky’s a drug dealer?” Steve cries out, and honestly he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. The man did offer him drugs without even knowing his name. It’s just this hinders his whole, have a crush on Bucky thing, because he refuses to date a harden criminal no matter how they are.

“Nah,” Clint says simply. He’s moved back behind the counter and is sitting in a plastic chair feet up, and is thumbing through the Playboy, again. “Used to be not anymore though.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, and slumps into a chair that’s pulled up to the counter. He all but slams his face against the orange tile of the counter.

“You gotta crush on Bucky.” And Steve wants to scream, because just like Natasha Clint doesn’t even feel like posing it as a question he just states it like a fucking fact. What makes it worse though is that this time it totally is a fact. He, Steve Rogers, so totally has a crush on an ex-drug dealer hair dresser called Bucky, and he doesn’t even know the guys last name. Carrie Underwood, and his mother would be very ashamed of him right now.

“Yeah,” Steve admits dejectedly. You would think finally letting the truth out would feel good, like a weight off his shoulders. Well, you would be wrong because right now Steve feels like he’s stuck in a submarine that is rapidly losing oxygen.

Clint just smirks at him and pushes a bowl of noodles towards him. Going against his better judgements Steve grabs a fork and stuffs a wad of noodles in his mouth. Garlic and butter thank God.

“You know you’re just his type,” Clint muses with a sly smile. “Bucky totally goes for guys like you. Tall, broad, blond, wholesome as hell. Yup, you are totally his type. Likes to find ‘em pure and make a sinner outta ‘em.”

Steve chokes on his noodles, and wants to cry over the double entendre going on in his mouth. Honestly, he stresses himself out more than anything, or anyone else can. “Clint, please stop talking.”

“I know you want a five day notice before having to go anywhere,” Clint begins, and Steve is not prepared for any of this. Whatever Clint is about to say, Steve knows he is not prepared for it. “I’m having a Halloween party Monday night. Got off work and everything.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly around his noodles. Technically Clint hadn’t actually invited him, just simply informed him that the party was happening. Without an actual invitation, Steve had no reason to actually comply and go.

“Natasha is gonna be there,” Clint adds. Steve just stares at him noodles hanging out of his mouth. “So is Bucky.”

Steve sees where this is going, and nope. He was having no part in this. No part what so ever. Not only did Clint forgo the five day freak out period, he now was trying to hook him up with extremely attractive ex-drug dealing hair dresser roommate. That is a good long nope, in Steve’s book.

“I’m inviting you,” Clint declares, much to Steve’s doom, and looks at him with wide puppy eyes. _Shit_ now Steve had to go, because he was just too nice of a guy to say no, and motherfucking Clint knew this too.

“Alright, I’ll go,” Steve groaned into his bowl of noodles. “I hate you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, honestly.”

“Please, Nat,” Steve begged, and if she thought he was above getting on his knees he would be proving her wrong very soon if she didn’t agree. “I’ll go to the party, but only if you do it with me. Please.”

“Stop being pathetic, Steve,” Natasha tsked at him, like literally made a tsk noise… She tsked him. “You’ll go either way, but since I am such a good friend I’ll do it.”

That is how Steve begged Natasha into getting his way, and also how he begged Natasha into going to Clint’s Halloween party dressed as Britney and Justin in their infamous all denim 2001 VMA’s outfits. Which, in Steve’s humble opinion were iconic and qualified as #looks.

“Thank you!” Steve chirped and hugged her. Nat was honestly his best friend, and he was really grateful to have her. Not only did she almost always feed into his every whim, while also pushing him beyond what he was capable of, she also enjoyed watching trashy reality television with him, which is something Sam would never do. They were watching old episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians aka the good ones, the show has really gone downhill lately, when Steve’s phone started to ring.

“Answer your phone, your ringtone is unforgivable,” Nat groaned. Steve resented that because his ringtone was classic. Genie in a Bottle was Steve’s favorite song about sex that pretended to not be about sex.

“I don’t know this number,” Steve mumbled. Guess he wasn’t going to answer it now, he never answered the phone when he didn’t know the number.

“Steve answer the phone or I’ll throat punch you,” Nat threatened him, and he took that threat very seriously. He saw the murderous look in her eyes, he knows the first rule about fight club and knows that’s why she hasn’t said anything yet.

Steve flips the phone open, and his hands are shaking. What. A. Loser. “Hello?”

“Oh my God,” Steve whispers out loud when the voice on the other line speaks. He knows that voice, that voice has become engrained in his mind. That voice is part of the reason he hasn’t been able to sleep at night for the past three days.

“I know you said call me maybe, and it looks like I finally found a good excuse to actually do so,” Steve silently curses himself, because when he said “Call me maybe” the maybe was a very very strong maybe, it practically meant don’t call me, erase me from your memory, I don’t even exist, that is what the maybe meant. “Clint wanted me to give you the information about the party. Time, address, you know stuff like that.”

“Uh,” Steve feels dizzy. “One second.”

Steve is rational person, of course. He is so rational he walks from the couch to the window, opens the window and throws his phone out of it. He goes total Stuck in the Suburbs on that shit. He only lives on the third floor, so he doubts that much damaged could have been caused, and that’s exactly how he’ll rationalize it to anyone who tries to judge him.

“What the fuck Steve!” Natasha exclaims, and Steve just faces her his expression mimicking what she just said.

“It was Bucky,” Is all Steve says before he’s racing out of his apartment and down the three flights of stairs. There in the middle of the alley is his stupid phone, still intact and still on call. He picks it up and curses Paris Hilton for making him buy so far into Motorola Razr that he can’t even buy an iPhone like a normal person. 

“Sorry,” Steve says his voice shaky. “I had to find a pen.”

Bucky laughs smoothly, and just again with the laugh. Steve is sick of it, he has had enough. He’s not even listening as Bucky relays the time and the address of the party. He’ll ask Natasha later. He does tune back in when Bucky says his name.

“Steve, I’m real glad you’re coming, hope you save a dance for me.” Steve’s chest just exploded in the alleyway beside his apartment. He just reenacted that scene from alien right there in the alleyway, at least he did it in time for Halloween.

“Uh, yeah I’ll, uh I’ll save a dance for you,” Steve finally manages even though his heart palpitations were threatening to kill him on the spot.

“See ya tomorrow, doll,” Bucky giggled. A grown man was actually giggling, and calling him doll. Steve searched the surrounding area for any puddles he could drown himself in.

Steve arrives at the party with Natasha, it’s being held at an apartment building not too far from the club where Steve met Bucky for the first time. Steve is totally decked out in his denim look, cowboy hat and all, and if Natasha was a blonde she would have looked exactly like a picture out of Tiger Beat.

Someone under a white sheet with holes cut out for eyes opened the door for them. It was fucking Clint, in a dumb ass costume. “Really Clint a ghost costume?” Natasha grumbled.

Clint scoffed, “A ghost? No, I’m sheet faced.”

Steve found himself laughing alongside his friends at that. The apartment is crowded, and the music loud, which makes Steve a little uneasy. He scans the crowd and is surprised when he sees Bucky standing on a dinky looking coffee table in the center of the room. The blonde girl he recognized from the hair salon is dressed like Christina Aguilera in her Dirrty music video, and is standing on the table too, and is grinding against Bucky. Steve can’t tell what Bucky is supposed to be, he has a navy t-shirt on and jeans. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are still rimmed with eyeliner, because Steve guessed he was really committed to the punk aesthetic or something.

Bucky’s eyes seemed to meet his from across the room like a cliché rom-com, and Bucky just smirked running his tongue over his lips before biting down on his bottom lip and grabbing the girl’s hips. He was really into it, and he was a really good dancer. Steve’s face heated up, how hot the room was did nothing to help him either, and he felt sweat dripping down his back. His heart was beating so fast, there was so many people, it was so loud, the lights were flashing it was all too much.

Steve felt Natasha lace their fingers together, and he mouthed _thank you._ She led him through the pack of people and into the kitchen. “Need to get a drink in you,” She jutted her chin towards him and smiled.

“Steve friend!” He heard Thor’s voice bellow. Before he even had a visual on the large man, two strong arms were pulling him in a crushing hug. “Twenty-seconds.”

“Hi Thor,” Natasha greeted. “You got anything for shots in here?”

“Do I!” Thor proclaimed. “They have no shot glasses though, which is surprise because it is Bucky and Clint.”

“We put all our fine china away.” They all looked over to Clint who currently was shoving the whole neck of a bottle of Skinny Girl Vodka down his throat. “What? I’m watching my figure.”

“Chug this my friends,” Thor says and hands both Steve and Natasha plastic cups. Steve puts the cup up to his nose and it smells like nail polish remover. He pulls it away from his face, and attempts to cough what he just breathed into his lungs out. He was scared if he accidentally got this on the wall the paint would sizzle and start peeling off.

“Just plug your nose or something,” Natasha orders as she downs hers. Steve looks at his drink like it did him a wrong in his past life, before pinching his nose and drinking the entire thing in one go. He hears Natasha cheering for him, but it sounds so far away. Steve isn’t sure how long he stands swaying in place, his whole body is buzzing, and honestly he is such a lightweight.

Steve is torn from his daze by the entire fucking building being shook by delighted whooping and screaming. He shuffles his way back to the living room, and there is Bucky still standing on the coffee table shot gunning a beer. Steve watches with an intense gaze as Bucky downs the entire can, hardly letting any escape his mouth. Everyone is cheering, and Steve actually finds it really dumb, but he can’t help join in, must be his hive mind. Bucky grabs some guy that’s standing by the table by the collar and starts kissing him. Steve wants to look down, but Bucky opens his eyes, and Steve swears to God this guy is looking him straight in the eyes as he shoves his tongue down another guys throat. Steve’s going to vomit, this is so attractive and it really shouldn’t be.

Steve turns back into the kitchen and grabs the vodka bottle out of Clint’s mouth and takes three large gulps from it.

“Well, shit,” He hears Clint mutter when he hands him the bottle back. Steve agrees with Clint on that, because _why the fuck did he just do that?_ That’s when he starts to panic, you see Steve knows why he did that. His subconscious had this plan that it wasn’t allowing Steve to actually know until it was too late. What his subconscious had wanted him to do was get loose, take a few shots, let go a little, then march up to Bucky pull him down off that table and kiss him. Instead, Steve is now sitting in the hallway panicking.

Steve isn’t sure how long he was sitting there, knees to his chest head between them. He was on the verge of tears, but then again when was he not on the verge of tears. This certainly hasn’t been his week, it teeters on being the worst week of his life, but that was reserved for the week when he gave himself the worst haircut of his life.

“Stevie,” He hears that stupid smooth voice, and it’s laced with concern.

“Fuck,” Steve really didn’t mean to sound so miserable out loud. He usually saves his misery for his inner dialogue and Natasha. He lifts his head up to see Bucky looking at him his eyes full of concern.

“You alright?” Bucky asks. When Steve doesn’t answer Bucky presses on. “You wanna get away?”

Steve nods, and Bucky practically picks him and lifts him to his feet. “My rooms right here. C’mon it’ll be quiet.”

Steve notes how Bucky slurs his words, and stumbles over his own feet. Bucky is very drunk. Bucky’s room is really messy, and Steve isn’t so sure this is any better than being at the party. There’s clothes all over the floor to the point Steve can’t even tell if the floor is wood or carpet, or if there is even a floor. There’s a tower of Lo-Carb Monster Energy drinks in the corner stacked on top what looked to be five pizza boxes.

“S messy, sorry,” Bucky gives him a sloppy smile, and sits down on his bed, patting next to him. “Sit down doll.”

Steve’s world is spinning, he probably should sit down, but he really doesn’t want to. He needs to busy his, needs to busy his mind. So, he starts grabbing armfuls of Bucky’s clothes and throwing them on the empty parts of the bed. Then he starts folding the ones that don’t smell too bad, and throwing the ones that do smell bad in a pile by the door.

“Stevie?” Bucky looks so amused, and Steve would find it really cute, but he couldn’t because how could a person live like this? “What’ya doin’?”

“Cleaning,” Steve mutters. “Your room is a mess.”

Bucky giggled, and fished his lighter out of his pants. He snatched the pack of cigarettes off the bed side table and lit one up. He held it loosely between his lips, and kept looking at Steve all… All seductively. Steve was cleaning and how no time for this kind of shenanigans.

“You shouldn’t smoke inside,” Steve lectures. “It’ll turn the walls yellow, and it smells.”

Bucky just looked half amused and half dumbfounded. He didn’t put out his cigarette which kind of annoyed Steve, but you can’t trust drunk people to do anything for themselves. Which, reminds Steve that he’s drunk too. He grabs a pair of jeans off the floor and notices a bulge coming from the pocket, his curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled what was in the pocket out. He examined it to discover it was a little baggy of the pills Bucky offered him at the club.

He stared at the bag of pills, his heart racing so fast he could hear it in his ears. He turned to Bucky and just _forgive me Father for I have sinned._ “Bucky,” Steve breathed his voice deep and scratchy. “I wanna know how it is.”

Bucky let the cigarette fall from his lips when he smiled up at Steve. He stomped it out with his leather boot clad foot. “Well, damn Stevie okay.”

Steve hands him the bag and Bucky opens it up and fishes out two pills. He hands one to Steve and keeps one for himself. Steve examines the pill, and how it has a little serpent stamped into it. He gulps because that was definitely a sign.

“Ya sure bout this doll?” Bucky asks Steve, giving him one last chance to back down. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, it’s probably just the alcohol clouding his brain, or the smell of Bucky’s cologne which is really strong and smells really good. Steve nods, and he wants to same something but all that comes out is air. And then _here goes nothing_ and he swallows the chalky pill, feeling it as it travels down his dry throat.

Steve’s vision goes blurry, really blurry, but then it clears up and he sees Bucky staring at him with a smile, his lips really wet and really pink. He just wants to kiss them, he wants that more than anything.

“God,” Steve breathes out. He looks at his hands and they’re shaking, but he can’t feel them shaking, He feels so warm, he feels so good. He looks back at Bucky, and he smiles so wide his face hurts. His face feels like it’s made of plastic. He feels so good. “Wanna kiss you Buck.”

“Go ahead.” Bucky’s moving closer to him, and he doesn’t really know why. He’s definitely not opposed to it, he’s downright welcoming it.

“What?” Steve asks, there’s no panic in his voice just light confusion. Bucky’s got a hand on his thigh dangerously close to his dick.

“Go ahead,” Bucky repeats. “Kiss me.”

And Steve does, he smashes their lips together. His stomach is doing flips, and a small part in his mind is yelling at him to pull away because he might actually throw up, and that would be awful. He doesn’t listen though, instead he wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist and pulls him closer. Bucky knocks the denim cowboy hat off his head so he can grab onto Steve’s hair, and Steve wants to cry when he remembers what he’s wearing.

 He realizes how loud he’s breathing through his nose, and how ugly that must sound, but the room is spinning and nothing else matters, except how he can feel Bucky’s body heat through his clothes. Bucky leans into the kiss his tongue slipping into Steve’s mouth, and okay if this was anyone else it might be gross, but it wasn’t anyone else it was Bucky.

The room was closing in on Steve, in the best way possible leaving just enough room for him and the gorgeous boy at his side. Steve pulls away to catch his breath, and Bucky’s kiss bruised lips are sitting in a pout on his face. Steve shrugs the denim suit jacket off, and Bucky takes that as some kind of sign to tug at the edge of his shirt. Steve, unknown to even himself, finds himself complying with Bucky’s wishes and taking his shirt off.

Steve closes his eyes for a split second, just trying to calm his brain down and stop the room from spinning. When he opens his eyes Bucky’s on his knees in front of him. “This okay?” Bucky blinks up at him his fingers already fiddling with Steve’s belt.

Steve brings his hand up to his mouth, and bites down on the flesh, “God, Buck yeah.”

It all happened so fast, and Steve is pretty sure it shorted his brain out. Bucky wrapped his lips around his dick, and just God it was unnatural how good that boy was at giving a blow job. Steve blushed when he came, because he didn’t last long at all, it was embarrassing. Bucky just looked up at him, and swallowed it all down, and Steve could have fainted at that very moment.

“Did you uh want me to?” Steve motioned to Bucky’s crotch.

Bucky snorted, “I wanna sleep.”

Bucky crawled back into the bed and wrapped himself in the covers, and he looked so cute like that. Steve felt bad about just leaving him, though. He really wasn’t this type of guy. He got up to put his shirt back on when he heard Bucky whine in protest.

“Whatta’ya doin? I said I wanna sleep.” Bucky was making grabby hands at Steve, and Steve was thankful Bucky wanted him to stay, and only half of that was because he honestly wasn’t sure if he could remember how to walk after everything that had just happened.

“I’m little spoon,” He heard Bucky mumble and who was he to say no.

Steve wakes up the next morning, and _oh shit I woke up_ even with this raging headache, and the fact his eyes are dry and crusty because he fell asleep with his contacts in, Steve could appreciate the fact that he actually fell asleep. He began to panic though when he couldn’t feel his right arm. He slapped his left arm across him in search for it and hit Bucky in the face… and _oh shit Bucky._

“Ya know there’s much nicer ways to wake a fella up,” Bucky mutters sitting up rubbing his face where Steve had hit him.

“I’m sorry I panicked, “Steve apologizes wide eyed. “Are you okay?”

“You can’t tell a guy you panicked when he’s in bed with ya Stevie,” Bucky chastises, and Steve can feel a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

“No it’s not that! You were on my arm and I uh… I couldn’t feel it so I uh… Panicked cause I thought it wasn’t there,” Steve explained in a rushed breath, and did he mention his head was pounding because dear God it was.

Bucky gives him a look that’s basically him saying ‘oh my god are you serious? You are so dumb’ and Steve just shrugs sheepishly, though he’s eyeing the pillow because smothering himself with one seems really satisfying right about now. To which Bucky busts out laughing, _loudly,_ and if Steve had complete circulation in his right arm he would cover his ears with his hands.

“Hungover?” Bucky asks when Steve grimaces. Steve nods. “Let’s get breakfast then. I know a place where they deep fry Nutella filled waffles.”

Steve is still in his gray t-shirt, and tragically dated jeans, and he really doesn’t want to go out like this, but passing up on something deep fried seems cruel and unusual at this very moment. His mouth was practically salivating at the thought of Nutella filled waffles, which for Steve is just odd because he is a staunch anti-dessert for breakfast guy. Steve’s head is foggy, but through it all in some kind of cliché way he can still see Bucky. Bucky who is grinning wildly at him, his hair like a bird’s nest, eyeliner smeared in raccoon fashion under his eyes, in the same clothes from yesterday, and Steve is pretty sure Bucky fell asleep with his shoes on.

“Uh I don’t-“ Steve is beginning to say when Bucky cuts him off with what can only be described as a murder glare. “Alright, let’s go.”

Steve doesn’t deny the way his heart becomes an acrobat when Bucky’s murder glare turns into a beaming smile. Bucky has really nice white teeth, which reminds Steve that he didn’t brush his teeth yet. He takes his wallet out of his pocket, and finds the half of the stick of gum he remembers was in there. It was spearmint flavored, which Steve hated. He was a cinnamon supporter at heart.

The diner Bucky takes Steve to is really nice. It’s retro, and had a sign outside of it stating that the establishment had been standing since 1961. The floor was black and white checkerboard, and the tables were bright red. And the way Bucky was looking at him from across the table, with his stupid endearing eyes, made Steve want to start singing “Do it For Our Country” from Grease 2. However, he mustered up whatever was left of his self-control, and decided that tearing his napkin to shreds was a better idea.

“Steve is there a reason you’re destroying your napkin?” Bucky is looking at him with some type of concerned loving smile on his face. Steve didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve cute boys looking at him like they wanted to kiss him on the face, not when he had just gone behind the Lord’s back and taken the Satan drugs. This is all ridiculous, Steve isn’t even religious.

By the time they silently walked to the diner, and sat down waiting for their food, all in silence, Steve has had a lot of time to contemplate his life, and what his life now meant. All while doing this a sudden dark thought started to intrude into his mind as the memories from last night replayed _. What if Bucky doesn’t remember?_ He was pretty wasted last night, even though he seems fine now, he could just be putting up some kind of front.

“You remember right?” Steve blurts out. If he hadn’t torn the napkin up in a bunch of tiny pieces he would have shoved the thing in his mouth to keep him from saying anything else that was that stupid. “Last night… You uh- you remember?”

“Well, damn Stevie,” Bucky exclaims slapping his hand down heavily on to the table. Steve jumps at that a little. “How could I forget last night? Your dick is practically the ninth wonder of the world.”

“The ninth?” Steve asks, because he was under the impression that there were only seven, and unless Bucky knows something he doesn’t know he is fairly certain Bucky is wrong.

“Yeah, your tits are the eighth.” Bucky winks at him, and Steve’s cheeks flare up. He doesn’t know if he should be offended, because he really doesn’t have tits, they are pecks, or be flattered. He’s leaning so heavily to the latter, though.

“Th-thanks,” Steve stutters out, he can’t get his eyes to look up from the table it’s just physically impossible at the moment. He wishes he had another napkin, and is tempted to reach his hand across the table and take Bucky’s napkin so he can destroy it too, but he decided against out of fear they might do the hand brush-blush combo.

 _Just breathe_ , Steve yells at himself when he feels the uncomfortable way his lungs constrict. _Breathe you fucking idiot._ _You can do this Steve_ , he is going to coach himself through this. _There is nothing special about Bucky besides his everything, but that is beside the point. You can do this, you are Steve Rogers, and the only person who owns your ass is Britney Spears, and maybe Paris Hilton but they would definitely encourage you on this_. His internal “Clear eyes full hearts” is broken when the waitress puts a plate of the deep fried Nutella filled waffles in front of his face, and good Lord do they look good, and they smell better than sex.

Steve hastily picks up his fork and practically shoves an entire waffle in his mouth, and oh yup he is definitely crying. Something about the way the waffles taste make his heart sink, and he just feels really sad all the sudden. He hears the distinct clatter of a fork hitting a plate, and Bucky leaning over the table, “Oh, my God Steve are you okay?”

Steve nods, and through the tears streaming down his face he actually looks Bucky in the eyes for the first time since they got to the diner, “They’re just so good.”

Steve watches as the tension, and the worry completely drain out of Bucky’s features and he begins to laugh. “Ya really scared me there Stevie. It’s just the crash.”

“The crash?” Steve inquires.

“Yeah sometimes after taking a drug like what we took, some people’s bodies can’t handle it. Throws their emotions outta whack and they just kinda… crash,” Bucky explains with a caring concentrated smiling.

 Something over takes Steve at that very moment, something very Invasion of the Body Snatchers-y, and Steve once again finds himself blurting out the thoughts in his mind. He really wishes he could stop doing that, but he can’t be held accountable when he is not actually in control of his own body. And hey how much more embarrassing can he be, he a grown man has already cried over waffles in front of him, he doubts it can get much worse. “I thought you were a porn star.”

“What?” Bucky splutters around a mouthful of waffle, and Steve watches as the brunet man’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

“Go on a date with me?” Steve spits out, so meekly that he even poses it as a question. Steve is really hoping this is the moment aliens decide to actually attack New York, he’s waiting for an explosion or a spacecraft to land on the place. _This is it please abduct me_. When that never happens he decides running away is his second best option.

He’s half way out of his seat when Bucky speaks, his voice low and dangerous, “Sit your ass down Steve.”

Steve slumps into his seat, and dares himself to take a look at Bucky’s face. He then triple dog dares himself, because just the singular dare was not convincing him to do so. A triple dog dare, though, now that meant business. Steve was surprised what he saw when he looked up. Bucky was staring back at him wide eyed, and pink in the cheeks.

“You?” Bucky asks pointing at Steve, “Wanna go on a date with me?”

“Well, I mean it looks to be that way,” Steve is struggling to breathe, he isn’t even sure how he’s speaking right now. He really wishes he had just ran away, and then avoided Bucky and all of his friends who knew Bucky for the rest of his life. Which, would have sucked because literally all of his friends knew Bucky, but it still would have sucked less than this conversation.

“I’m free tomorrow evening,” Bucky seems to have regained all his composure and is smiling cheekily at Steve. Tomorrow evening is not five days away, and Steve isn’t sure he can make that work.

“Okay, I’ll see you then,” And that is not what Steve wanted to say. He can’t do that. No way in hell can he do that.

“Gimme your phone,” Bucky demands. Steve isn’t sure why Bucky needs his phone, and he’s reluctant to give his phone to him. What if he saw his nudes, or something? Though that would be highly unlikely seeing as how he doesn’t have any nudes. Bucky picks up on his confusion and rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna put my number in so you can text me the details.”

Steve hands Bucky his phone, which Bucky immediately laughs at. “A flip phone Steve? Really? Need to get ya that Frank Rossitano hat.”

Steve honestly has no clue who Frank Rossitano is, though, but he laughs anyways just because Bucky says it. Good God he is so whipped already.  

“Wilson!” Steve is screeching into his phone. It hasn’t been long since Steve’s diner, whatever you want to call it, and he’s been pacing the streets ever since, only mildly freaking out, at least that is what he is telling himself. “I am so dumb, Sam. Oh my God I’m an idiot, an actual real life idiot.”

“Steve,” Sam deadpans. “You’re going to have to give me a little more clarification on that, because that is nothing new.”

“I’m going on a date,” Steve groans, and even though Sam can’t see him he is flailing his arms in a dramatic fashion, ignoring the funny looks he’s getting from the other pedestrians opting to go for melodramatic. “Get it Rogers!” Sam whoops on the other end of the line. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“That’s the thing Sam,” Steve hisses. “I don’t have it in me. I can’t go. I can’t do this. The date is tomorrow, Sam! Tomorrow!”

“Woah, Steve,” He hears Sam begin dryly and he fucking knows where this is going. He knows. _Whatever happened to the five day freak out period, Steve? Don’t you need five days to freak out, Steve?_ “Tomorrow isn’t exactly what I would consider five days.” Fucking, bingo!

“You remember the guy from the club?” Steve asks, and golly was Sam in for a story.

“You’re going on a date with drug guy?” Steve can practically hear Sam’s eyes popping out of his skull, because Sam was the Mom Friend™.

“Well, you see it turns out he’s Natasha’s hair dresser, James, also known as the guy who cut my hair, and he just so happens to be Clint’s roommate Bucky. He goes by both I don’t know. Anyways, I just so happened to have been invited to Clint’s Halloween party where I went with Natasha, and since it was Clint’s party it would only be natural for Bucky to be there. So, anyways I may have takendrugswithBuckyandthengottenmydicksuckedbyhim,” Steve can hear Sam’s steady breathing on the other end of the line, but he hasn’t said anything. It feels like an eternity has gone by, by the time Sam actually replies.

“What. The. Fuck. Rogers?”

“Sam please,” Steve pleads, he really could go without a lecture. “I fell asleep.”

“Because you were on drugs, Steve!” Sam shouts, and some part deep down inside of Steve knows that Sam is probably right, but another part of him isn’t so sure. The whine that escapes Steve’s mouth doesn’t stop Sam from going his little rant, though. “What were you thinking Steve? Doing drugs? Do you even know what kind you were doing, or what was even in it? A guy with your past medical history can’t afford to be doing shit like that.”

“Sam,” Steve sighs, feeling utterly defeated. “This is not what I wanted when I called you. For once, in my entire fucking life _I_ did something. Me. I did it. I didn’t let anyone else do it for me, and no one had to make me. And Sam, oh my God I slept.”

He heard Sam let out a similar sigh to the one Steve just had. “Steve, I don’t wanna say that I’m proud of you, because I’m fucking not. But I’m proud of you. It’s just going on a date with the guy? You don’t even know the guy, Steve. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“No Sam I don’t,” Steve answers honestly. “I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. This may come as a shock, but I’m the one who asked him out. I really like him Sam. So, can we just get back to freaking out about what I’m going to wear now?”

“The light blue button up, and those tight fitting black jeans that make your butt look fine,” Sam informs him. Steve lets out a chuckle, when Sam refers to his butt as ‘fine.’ “What are you laughing at? A man can appreciated his best friend’s ass every once in a while.”

“Hey,” Steve’s voice is soft. “Thanks, Sam. For everything.”

“Anytime Rogers, you know that. Take care of yourself okay? Cause God knows I can’t.” And that’s why Steve loved Sam. That’s why, even though Sam was an unbearable mother, he kept him around, because Sam cared about Steve no matter how irrational or anxious he was being. He really couldn’t ask for a better friend than Sam.

“Whatever, I gotta go Bird Boy,” Steve jokes before disconnecting the call.

Later in the day Bucky had sent him a text telling him that they’ll meet at this Italian restaurant not too far from Steve’s apartment at 8. That’s how Steve ends up sitting on a bench outside the Italian restaurant at 7:30 wearing his light blue button up and tight black jeans that apparently make his butt look fine.

“Damn,” He hears that familiar smooth voice, and he looks up from where he’s twiddling his thumbs to see Bucky standing there. And he looks so attractive. He’s got his hair tied up in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, a black button up, and leather jacket on, and the jeans he is wearing make his butt look more than just fine. “You’re here early too, huh? I always come to my first dates early so I can smoke a cigarette before. Calms my nerves.”

Steve isn’t sure where Bucky gets off on being nervous for first dates. He’s fucking handsome, like drop dead gorgeous and charming as hell. What on earth would be making him nervous about seeing Steve, the perpetually awkward and borderline crazy guy?

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Steve tells him. Bucky just raises one eyebrow, he’s already got an unlit cigarette between his lips, and is giving Steve a “whatchu gonna do bout it face?” “I’m not gonna kiss you tonight if you smoke.”

“Oh?” Bucky smirks at him. “And if I kiss you?”

Steve stands up so he’s more eye level to the other man, and he has to admit it feels pretty nice having an inch or two on him, at the moment, “Then it’s nonconsensual and inappropriate.” 

Bucky smiled at him, like he was proud or something, and it made Steve’s inside dance. “Guess I can’t smoke then.”

Steve looks down, and blushes which has kind of become his M.O. around Bucky. “Still no guarantees on that kiss, though.”

“Guess I gotta take ya inside and woo ya the old fashion way, huh?” Bucky asks, arms motioning for the door. Bucky holds the door open for him, and smirks when the waitress leads them to their table. “Do I gotta pull your chair out for ya too?”

Again with the looking down and the blushing. “No, I think I’ve got it.”

“Well,” Bucky begins peaking up over his menu. He’s got that same dopey smile on his face that he had on in the diner the day before. “Tell me about yourself.”

Steve looks at the glass of water sitting in front of him at the table, he eyes the lemon wedge perked on the edge of the glass. One squirt of that into his eye would be a great excuse to disappear into the bathroom. _No_ Steve scolds himself _You have to do this._

“Uh… Well my name’s Steve Rogers. I was born and raised in Brooklyn. I’m an artist. There’s not much to say really,” Steve wants to look up but he knows Bucky is looking at him with concentration in his eyes and a smile on his lips. Something in Steve’s brain was telling him he didn’t want to see that so he kept his gaze to the stupid cloth napkin he couldn’t tear up.

“Look up at me Stevie,” Bucky’s voice is soft but carried a demanding edge. Steve looks up at him through his eyelashes. “What do you mean there’s not much to say? You’re an artist, that’s pretty cool. You’re on a date with me so that says a lot too.”

“Someone’s a little full of themselves,” Steve teases, and he honestly doesn’t know where this is coming from. Maybe it’s the ghost of Anna Nicole Smith’s past, but he just feels more at ease with Bucky than he’s ever felt with a practical stranger. It took almost a year of 2am noodle trips for this kind of interaction between Steve and Clint, but with Bucky it just felt so right.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky announces cheekily. “College dropout, ex-drug dealer, and current, and definitely best hair dresser at S.H.I.E.L.D Salon. And yes, I’m just a little full of myself.”

“College dropout?” Steve inquires. That sends Bucky into a full-fledged story starting at the very beginning of his freshman year in college when he and his roommate accidentally set his mattress on fire while trying to use a Gatorade bottle and the mouth piece from a trumpet as a bong. That’s what led Bucky on a path to other drugs, and to get drugs you need money and according to Bucky selling drugs is a hell of a good way to insure you always have drugs and money on hand. A win-win situation which Bucky quickly learned was a lose-lose situation.

“Hard to focus on an engineering major when you’re so high you can hardly walk most of the time,” Bucky lets out a self-deprecating laugh, and tears a complimentary breadstick in half before setting back down on the plate obviously not interested in eating it. “But I went to cosmetology school and now here I am almost killing cute boys like you, by making them choke at the salon.”

Steve feels the tips of his ears turn red as he remembers one of the most embarrassing moments of his entire life. His stomach was twisting in tiny knots though, because despite Bucky’s stories being hilarious, he can’t help but wonder why, since he had such big problems with drugs does Bucky still do them recreationally. Wasn’t he afraid of spiraling out of control again? Steve decides that maybe those questions were too heavy for a first date, and decides to keep them to himself instead.

                The date goes really well, and Steve actually found himself strolling the streets hand in hand with Bucky. He was only slightly worried that Bucky might think he was gross, because of how clammy his hand was. He kept having to unlace their fingers and wipe his palm on the front of his jeans. Bucky didn’t say anything, but each time Steve did it he saw the sides of his mouth twitch in an amused smile.

                “So, Mr. Rogers,” Bucky’s voice is low and husky. “Would it be non-consensual and inappropriate if I kissed you right now?”

                Just like any good unsub on an episode of Criminal Minds Steve looked down and blushed. He shook his head, “No, I give my full consent.”

                “Okay, good because I just needed to make sure, didn’t need you clockin me in the face like ya did that guy at the club the night we met. That was a real gnarly punch, you sure are a feisty on-“

                “I’m gonna punch you if you don’t shut up and kiss me, Buck,” Steve practically growled.

                Bucky laughed, and placed one hand on Steve’s cheek rubbing his thumb in circles on Steve’s skin. It sent chills down his spine, and made his toes numb. Bucky leaned in closely, and time went by so slowly Steve almost considered leaning in for him, because he was almost positive Bucky was frozen in place. But then Bucky’s lips were on his, and his whole body was filled with tiny electric shocks. Bucky tasted like the after dinner mints you got with the check, and something Steve could remember from the night of the party that was just so distinctly Bucky.

                Steve reluctantly breaks away from the kiss, “My place isn’t too far from here.”

                “Well, damn Stevie,” Bucky is panting like Steve sucked the oxygen out from his lungs. And hell maybe he had. “Are you sure?”

                Steve brings their lips together again before pulling away and nodding, “Yeah… Yeah. I’m sure.”

                The two could hardly make it up the three flights of stairs. Steve’s legs were so weak, they felt like jelly, and the way Bucky was walking so closely pressed against him sucking on his neck was not helping the situation. Steve threw his apartment door open, and turned towards Bucky their stomachs pressed together and kissed him hard.

                Bucky pulled away and let out a bemused snort, “Ya don’t lock your door? That ain’t safe Steve.”

                “Bucky,” Steve whined. “Bedroom.”

                The fog of arousal clouding Steve’s brain like a Stephen King novel is finally lifted when he feels Bucky’s fingers working on the buttons of his shirt. All he can hear is fucking Sam’s voice in his head _Do you even know the guy, Steve?_ Steve realizes he doesn’t know Bucky, and Bucky doesn’t know him, and that’s not how Steve wants to feel when he has sex with someone. He doesn’t want to feel like they’re still strangers, he wants to feel like he knows them.

                “Bucky,” Steve’s voice is thick with emotion, which Bucky seems to take as arousal and continues to undo the buttons on his shirt, and sloppily kissing down Steve’s neck. Steve swats his hands away gently. “Buck. Bucky no I want. I want to. I want to stop.”

                Bucky immediately backs away looking extremely flustered and concerned. “Hey, Steve what’s wrong.”

                Steve looks down, and he feels the telltale sting of tears in his eyes. He really doesn’t want to cry, he’s surprised he hasn’t cried himself dry in the past few days. Steve bites down on his bottom, and stares at the stain in the carpet by the door where he had spilt coffee one time.

                Bucky places a hesitant hand on his thigh, “Doll, you gotta talk to me.”

                “I don’t know who Frank Rossitano is,” Steve finally admits, and it’s not the most eloquent of ways to say how he is feeling, but it is the only thing his brain could conjure up at the moment that wouldn’t send him into a sob.

                “You don’t want to sleep with me because you’ve never seen 30 Rock?” Bucky questions, and Steve can tell he is genuinely confused.

                “Yes,” Steve says, and Bucky’s eyes go so wide and Steve can tell he’s doing that whole looking into the camera like he’s on The Office thing in his head. “I mean it’s not cause I’ve never seen 30 Rock. It’s cause I don’t know you. We just met, and I just don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite bad movie is, or what snack you sneak into the movie theater. I don’t know what song you sing in the shower, or if you even sing in the shower at all. You do kinda seem like one of those people who just stand and stare at the wall when you’re in the shower. Not like I’ve been thinking about you in the shower or anything. It’s just I want to build something with you before I ya know go all the way.”

                Steve can’t believe he literally said all of that, his face goes so hot at the realization, and he’s waiting for Bucky to be pissed at him and leave. But Bucky isn’t pissed at him, he’s laughing. It’s not a mocking laugh, or a laugh of disbelief, it’s a warm comforting laugh.

                “Well, damn Stevie,” Bucky reaches for him and pulls him into a hug. “This alright? A Twenty-second hug reduces stress.”

                “Increases oxytocin,” Steve finishes for him, and they share a smile.

Bucky’s still holding Steve in the embrace when he starts whispering in his ear, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears is my go to shower song, but lately it’s been Hands to Myself by Selena Gomez.”

Steve chokes on a laugh, “Selena Gomez really?”

So, the two do end up together in Steve’s bed fully clothed watching 30 Rock on his laptop. Bucky’s got his left arm wrapped around Steve, and Steve knows how he’s going to feel in the morning. Steve looks at the clock it says 11:37pm, and the next time he opens his eyes it reads 8:16am, and it’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in a while. He turns to his side so he can cuddle into Bucky’s neck, and he knows this is how he wants things to be for a while, if not forever. He was really trying not to get his hopes up, but it was just too damn hard not to.

And if for three months Steve is playing catch up with life, and all the things he’s missed because he wasn’t allowing himself to go out and do it, it all starts with Bucky. Bucky who encourages him to see a therapist and get this shit anxiety under control. Bucky who owns a DVD box set of every season of The Girls Next Door, even the crappy ones with Crystal, Kristina, and Karissa. Bucky who wakes him up in the middle of the night to tell him that he’s quitting smoking because he doesn’t like the way Steve makes a face every time he kisses him after he’s smoked. Bucky who breaks down crying because he hasn’t done drugs since his first date with Steve because he hasn’t felt _lonely,_ because he feels whole _._ It all starts with Bucky, his Bucky, and the fact he hasn’t missed a night’s sleep since he’s met him.

Steve walked into the salon, and greeted Sharon who smiled back at him and told him Bucky was just cleaning his station and would see him soon. Steve felt a weird wave of nostalgia laced déjà vu fly over him.

“Hey doll,” Steve looks up from his feet to see Bucky smiling at him. His hair is sloppily pulled into a bun, and his eyeliner is smudged. Steve chuckles to himself of the familiarity of it all. Bucky leads him to the seat and drapes the smock around him.

“Hm think we needa take a little off around here,” Bucky teases snipping the scissors near Steve’s ears.

“Good, then I won’t be able to hear you whine,” Steve quips back.

Bucky scoffs, “Please you love it.”

Steve hums in agreement, “Yeah, guess you could say I love you.”

Bucky drops his scissors and turns the chair around so Steve is facing him. Steve’s chest is tight, but it’s not from nervousness, it’s from pure love. He’d been waiting for the right moment to say it to Bucky, and even if took three months, the sentiment was definitely there.

“Wha-What’d you say?” Bucky stutters out.

“I love you,” Steve repeats with a cheeky grin.

“Well, damn Stevie,” Bucky replies a blush on his cheeks. “I love you too.”

And if for three months Steve’s been making Bucky wait for sex, it’s all going to be worth it. Steve knows it is, because now he knows Bucky, and is ready to know him even more and in the most intimate of ways. And if the absolutely undignified noise Bucky makes when he was washing Steve’s hair at the salon when Steve whispers to him to, “Just wait for tonight.” Is anything to go by, he’s certain it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> srry if this was awful  
> not srry if it wasnt


End file.
